In Love And War
by floatinginthenightsky
Summary: AU/Crossover - Westeros has been in a state of war for 10 years, and now, the potential peace depends on the joining of the two major feuding Houses, and Haymitch must learn to tolerate a woman he despises for the good of his Kingdoms. Full summary inside. Rated M to be safe. Eventual Hayffie. THG/ASOIAF characters are not mine.
1. Prologue

**Summary:** AU/Crossover - Westeros has been in a state of war for 10 years, but when Lord Trenton Trinket - son of the self-proclaimed King in the North - approaches the young King Haymitch with an offer that would ensure peace, his council implores him to accept. Now, the potential peace of Westeros depends on the joining of the two major feuding Houses, and Haymitch must learn to tolerate a woman he despises for the good of his Kingdoms.

**_A/N: I hope it's not as bad as I just made it sound. I've had this planned for ages. Just so you know, there's no Effie in this chapter, but it sets the scene and mentions her grandfather. That's important. So… enjoy (hopefully), and let me know if anything confuses you. :)_**

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The week's weather had been the best King's Landing had seen for months. The air was still and hot; humid; and the citizens had been out in their thousands to go splash in the lakes and rivers around the capital. Of course, hot weather meant one other thing: the streams in the woods would be teeming with wildlife, both big and small. It was the perfect time for a hunt, so that's exactly what Haymitch and his friends had set out to do.

Only two days had passed, but the Gods seemed to have favoured them and blessed them with excellent weather and endless luck. They had managed to bring down almost as much game as one would catch in a less favourable week. Giddy from the hunt and the wine they had treated themselves to for the ride home, Haymitch and his friends - including his loyal best friend, Chaff - laughed and joked as they headed towards King's Landing. A content smile seemed permanent on Haymitch's face as his friends mocked him about girls.

"Seriously, 'Mitch, you don't know what you're missing out on." Chaff teased and reached over to slap Haymitch playfully on the arm. He had been Haymitch's best friend for as long as they could both remember. They were practically brothers; way past the formalities of being a Prince and his subject. "I had a great girl just last week. Red head, she was. Great body, great mouth and even better tits!" Chaff proclaimed and guffawed loudly. Haymitch laughed and shook his head.

"And you're welcome to her. I have Ariana. I don't need whores."

"Haymitch is in love." Chaff turned to inform the other men in their party, teasing. Even the guards shared in a small laugh.

"And what's wrong with being in love? Ariana's a great girl from a good, strong, loyal family, and-"

"Yeah… _Gentle, yet strong_." Chaff announced the House Gold words in a high-pitched, mock-Western accent, his hands making sarcastic gestures in the air, and everyone in the group - including Haymitch - laughed.

"Alright, alright." Haymitch shook his head once more, a smile still on his face from his friend's mocking. "Their words are a little strange, but their army's damn strong. Great allies. Join them with ours and any rebels don't stand a chance in hell. They'd be wiped out in a week, tops."

"Fair point, fair point." Chaff agreed, nodding, but still couldn't help chuckling as he repeated the words of House Gold in a murmur, earning a snicker from Haymitch beside him.

"You're mocking your future Queen. I might let her take your head one day." Haymitch joked.

"And who would blame her for taking it? It sure is a fine head." Chaff replied, grinning, and the two friends laughed.

"Prince Haymitch!" The urgent voice of one of the guards from behind them stopped the young men's laughter in an instant, and both turned their heads to see what the matter was.

"What's wrong, Ser?"

"Smoke on the horizon." The Knight replied and pointed ahead above the trees. Haymitch turned his head in the direction and felt dread fill him immediately.

"That's King's Landing!" He yelled, horrified, and instantly kicked his horse into a gallop, not wasting a second. His men followed, urgently pushing their horses through the trees towards the citadel.

—|—

In the distance, a horn sounded to announce the Prince's return, and Haymitch could hear people rushing around by the gate. As they approached and passed through the Gate of the Gods, Haymitch grew uneasy. The citizens watched his journey with solemn faces; the ones who were alive and well, at least. In the streets, soldiers and civilians alike lay dead or wounded, and people rushed with buckets of water, attempting to put out many fires that were spreading through the wooden buildings of Cobbler's Square.

"What happened here?!" Haymitch roared to his friends as they trotted towards the Red Keep, slowed by the chaos in the streets.

"I don't know. Let's just get to the Keep." Chaff replied, before screaming at some people in the road to move aside for their Prince.

It took a few very long minutes for Haymitch and Chaff to reach the Keep. His guards had stopped by the gate to help their brothers in arms control the frantic, panicking citizens, and his two friends that had accompanied them had parted ways to find their families. As they dismounted their horses, Haymitch heard a frantic, familiar voice call his name. He whirled around at the sound.

"Uncle Landon. What is this?"

"Haymitch… Come. Now. Leave the horses." Haymitch looked on, dumbfounded for a second and terrified. "COME!"

At his uncle's command, Haymitch seemed to find sense again, and sprinted after his father's brother towards the throne room, full of dread and fear.

"Uncle… What happened?" He asked, panting from the effort of running while semi-intoxicated.

"Your father. Your mother. Hayden. Ariana. I… I was powerless." Haymitch's eyes widened at his uncle's words, and all effects of the wine quickly faded from his system. He sprinted ahead, his new found urgency pushing him faster.

When he burst through the large oak doors to the throne room, he felt his heart - his entire world - stop.

The room was strangely dark, and a sense of death and mourning seemed to hang heavy in the air like a thick, smothering blanket that seemed to crush Haymitch's lungs and prevent the flow of air.

In a trance, he staggered forward, passing the dead or wounded bodies of more than half of his father's Kingsguard. But he could pay them no mind. At the bottom of the steps to the throne were 4 make-shift beds - tables, they looked like, lined with cushions and fabrics to apparently make them more dignified. Atop the tables - cold, still and lifeless, eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling - were the people he held most dear; his world. His eyes scanned them, his brain unable to process what he was really seeing for a moment until his vision settled on where his father lay slain, nearest to the throne with his crown on his head and a sword placed respectfully in his grasp.

Stunned silent, he moved forward unsteadily and collapsed to his knees by his father's side, eyes wide and rage beginning to make his body shake. It seemed like years to Haymitch before someone dared speak.

"Your Highness…"

At the intrusion on his silent, angered grief, Haymitch took in what felt like the first breath he'd taken in hours and quickly jumped to his feet, charging at the Knight who had dared disturb him. He grabbed the man by the shoulders and roughly pushed him into a wall, his still-gloved hand finding the man's throat and adding slight pressure. To give the young Ser credit, he didn't whimper, though his eyes were full of fear.

"WHAT HAPPENED?!" Haymitch roared, eyes wild, as if the young Knight in his grasp was personally responsible.

"Your Highness, please!" The man spluttered. "Please!"

Haymitch tightened his grip, content with murdering an innocent man just to relieve his anger. But a firm hand on his shoulder caused his grip to loosen, and he looked around to see the pained, sympathetic face of his uncle.

"Haymitch. Stop." His uncle pleaded, grief clear in his face. Haymitch obliged, stepping away from the young Knight who now gasped for air, slumped on the cold floor. He turned and looked over his family again, this time moving between his mother and brother and grasping their hands.

"Who did this?" He spoke quietly, his voice still holding rage that was just waiting to explode.

"Your father… That was Lord Tristain." His uncle answered his question, sitting by the King's side.

"And mother? Hayden? Ariana?"

"…The bastard. Coriolanus Snow." Haymitch winced at his uncle's reply. Snow. He'd always known the man was trouble; always known he was not to be trusted. He'd warned his father; his uncle; his mother, all of them. He'd warned them, and the only person to listen had been Ariana. Rising to his feet again, he sucked in a sharp breath and moved to Ariana's side. She was beautiful; naturally pale with almost black hair and the most beautiful, striking, lively blue eyes he'd ever seen in his life; eyes he would never see again. Choking back tears, he cleared his throat, willing himself to remain strong and not break down in front of his father's - no… _His_ court. His father was dead. These were his men now. He gently brushed some hair from Ariana's face, sadly remembering the way she used to beam at him when he did so. A smile he would never see again. He could feel the grief slowly eating away at his very soul, and when he glanced back to his family - his mother: beautiful, with golden blonde hair and sky blue eyes; his brother a spitting image of him, except 4 years younger and with strange, natural blonde streaks in his hair; and his father, an exact image of what Haymitch would grow up to be - he vowed justice for them. He vowed revenge, and he allowed this anger and determination to assist him to his feet, standing tall, proud and strong, just as his father always did.

"Bring them to me." He spoke and caught the fleeting looks of guilt cross the faces of his guards.

"Haymitch…" His uncle began, but Haymitch interrupted.

"Bring me the traitors. Now!" He commanded, glaring at the guards who seemed to be avoiding eye contact with him. "BRING ME THE TRAITORS!"

The room fell silent; still; and everyone seemed to share glances, almost urging each other to be the first to speak. Haymitch's fury built with each second, until a guard from the back - out of view - spoke up.

"They escaped, your Highness." Every guard appeared to hold his breath, except Haymitch's uncle, who sighed deeply and slumped down onto the steps by the Iron Throne.

"HOW DID THEY ESCAPE?!" Haymitch roared. "WHO LET THEM ESCAPE! I'LL KILL ANY MAN WHO LET THEM PASS!"

"We fought, your Highness, but we couldn't-"

"YOU LET THEM ESCAPE!" Haymitch's screaming made even the biggest guard in the room jump, all knowing full well what grief could drive a man to do. "GATHER THE FORCES AND BRING THEM TO ME! NOW! I COMMAND IT! I WANT THEIR HEADS BEFORE DAWN, OR I'LL DAMN WELL TAKE ALL YOURS!"

He shook with rage, his mind frenzied with the desire for revenge; for blood. When no guard moved, he reached for his sword, but his uncle's hand around his wrist stopped him from fully pulling the blade from it's sheath.

"GET OFF ME, UNCLE!" He commanded, swinging his left elbow in an attempt to free himself, but his uncle was a strong man who had the advantage of years in the Kingsguard.

"Haymitch, calm yourself! Stop! They're gone, Haymitch. Please." Landon Abernathy pleaded with his nephew, desperately trying to hold him still as he struggled. "Haymitch, you'll shame yourself! You'll shame our House. Just stop, nephew! I beg you."

Finally, after screaming himself hoarse and struggling until his muscles ached, Haymitch stilled in his uncle's grasp and let out a strangled, pained noise of grief.

"Everyone leave." He murmured, the guards sharing a confused, unsure look at the quiet command. "LEAVE! GET OUT! Get out."

Haymitch froze, staring blankly at the leaving guards. Only when the oak doors were securely closed, did he turn in his uncle's arms and sob.

—|—

Hours later, Haymitch sat on the steps inside the Sept of Baelor, his family's bodies having been moved there for proper funeral preparations. A skin of wine hung loosely; pathetically; from his fingers. Chaff had said the stuff would help push down some of the grief, but it didn't; not really. It just blurred the edges of reality a little.

A loud noise caught his attention and his head snapped up as the doors flew open.

"WHERE IS SHE?! WHERE IS MY SISTER?!" Haymitch sighed as the shouts of Cassian Gold echoed through the Sept.

"Brother, calm yourself." The voice of Cinna Gold followed, accompanied by the sound of his hurried steps as he chased after his younger brother to their sister's side.

Haymitch watched in silence from the steps, taking a gulp of wine every now and then as the brothers grieved for their youngest sibling - the girl he loved; the girl he couldn't save. He sighed at the thought and took another desperate gulp of wine as the grief threatened to return full-force.

His sigh seemed to catch the attention of Cassian Gold, who turned his way with a glare that could kill instantly if it were possible.

"You." The man snarled and headed Haymitch's way with purpose. Haymitch didn't even fight when Cassian grabbed him roughly by the collar and pinned him against one of the Sept's stone columns with his elbow. He wasn't a strong man - not really - and Haymitch could've easily taken the slightly older man down with one swift move, but he didn't have it in him to fight. Instead, he just slumped pathetically against the stone, a blank look on his face.

"You let this happen!" The man accused, fury in his eyes. The accusation triggered the anger in Haymitch, and finally, he shoved back, but the wine had made his balance unsteady.

"I wasn't here!" He snarled at Cassian Gold, who dared to shove Haymitch into the column once more.

"Where were you, _boy?!"_ Cassian's emphasis on the word 'boy' brought Haymitch's rage back. He was no boy. He would be King within the fortnight. He shoved the man back roughly, causing him to trip and fall to the floor, spluttering angrily. Cassian scrambled to his feet, rage causing him to shake and go red-faced.

"Don't you call me boy!"

"You let my sister die! I should kill you now and take your head back to my Lord father!"

"Then go ahead! The Gods know you're desperate to prove yourself as a man! Take my damn head! Go on!" Haymitch's reply shocked even himself; wine and grief causing him to be careless. Cassian took this as an invite, and even dared to reach for his dagger, but Haymitch's uncle had appeared during the scuffle and was quick to work with Cinna to restrain the angry soon-to-be-Lord.

"No one is taking any heads!" His uncle spoke. "We are allied Houses! We will work together to bring down this foe. The only heads we shall take are the rotten heads of the traitor Lord and that Northern bastard!"

Haymitch and Cassian continued to glare at each other, but the silence and stillness seemed to be an unspoken agreement for a temporary truce. At Haymitch's cold, hard stare, Cassian eventually grew uneasy, and sighed, turning to Landon Abernathy instead.

"Tell me what happened, Ser." He requested, and his uncle was quick to oblige. Haymitch sighed and took another gulp of wine, slumping back down on the steps as the tale he'd heard earlier in the day was told yet again. Somehow, he knew it would never be an easy story to hear.

"I was in my solar when the fighting began. I glanced into the courtyard to see what appeared to be one of the City Watch arguing with one of Lord Tristain's guards. Of course, this caught the attention of many guards as it turned into a bigger disturbance. I was on my way down to resolve the issue, as any Commander would, when I heard a scream from the Royal apartments. Naturally, I ran - faster than I have ever ran before - but when I arrived, I… T-There was nothing I could do. It turns out the disturbance in the courtyard was a diversion. The bastard and some 50 Trinket guards were fighting ours in the hallway. I attempted to push through into the apartments, and eventually succeeded, only to find… The young Prince - my nephew - and my sister-in-law, the Queen… They were with the Gods already. And your daughter's scream sounded from her quarters, so I pushed through the fighting once more, but before I got there, the bastard Snow was fleeing. I commanded three of my men to go see to the Lady Ariana, and they did so, while I took up chase of the bastard. It was chaos and I could hardly see who was friend or foe. The hallways and steps were slick with blood. It was slaughter. I eventually made it to the throne room, where I knew my brother was in a meeting of the Small Council, but fighting guards were there already. We were outnumbered, somehow. They'd split their army skilfully. This was planned. This was a well thought out plan. When I arrived in the Small Council chamber, Lord Tristain and many of his personal guards had already slain those present, but my brother was up in arms with the Lord himself. My arrival distracted them all from the fight, but Lord Tristain used this to his advantage and ran my brother through. It all happened so quickly, and by the time the City Watch had arrived with the rest of the Kingsguard, Lord Tristain and Snow had fled, their guards slaying innocents and setting fires as they ran. They did not loot. They only wished to cause chaos." Landon paused for a moment to gather himself, his face pained from retelling the story. He looked to his nephew, who seemed to be staring blankly at the floor, his jaw tense. With a sigh, he continued. "Eventually, the city calmed somewhat and all the Northmen fled with their Lord. Of course, once the calm came, we had to try to restore order. The remaining guards went to the lower town to calm the common folk, while the rest of the Kingsguard tried to gather what remained of the Royal Court. We brought the dead to the throne room. It was the only chamber we could think of that would hold them all. It turned out that when my men arrived at Lady Ariana's chambers, she was already with the Gods as well, so we brought her to rest with the King and his family. Respectfully, of course. She was family to us; as much an Abernathy as my own nephew here. We loved her. Haymitch loved her. He could do nothing, my Lords."

The room fell silent as Landon Abernathy finished his account of the day's events; the only sound for a while the swill of the wine as Haymitch continued to drink. Cassian Gold spoke first.

"Why would the Northerners do this? Why would they betray their King?"

"Lord Tristain had sought out my brother but a week ago, telling him of an idea to make the North it's own Kingdom. Of course, my brother declined, saying it is a foolish King that would agree to split his lands in two. The few Trinket guards we captured claimed to fight for the King in the North, Tristain Trinket."

"It was an act of war, and we'll wipe out every last one of 'em." Haymitch spoke finally, his voice slightly shaken with rage and grief and slurred from the wine.

"In time, nephew, we will." Landon Abernathy agreed. "We will wipe out every last one of them."

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**_A/N: Let me know what you thought, please? And thanks for reading. :)_**

**_Disclaimer: All THG-universe characters are not mine. Which sucks. And Westeros isn't mine either. And any ASOIAF characters (if any appear later) are not mine. If a character is mine, you'll know because their name will seem completely random. ;) I wish Hayffie were mine. -sigh-_**


	2. Chapter 1

_A/N: I'm so sorry this took so long! This is a kinda short one but I split the chapter for a reason. Also so you could have this sooner. I know some of you are getting impatient. ;)_

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Heat. It was a word Effie was slowly trying to get used to from inside the stuffy carriage being dragged along the King's Road by reluctant horses who were not used to the summer sun. It'd been a long month's ride down to King's Landing and it still wasn't over. One month spending her days inside an old creaking carriage instead of feeling the Southern sun on her skin. One month of admiring the strange, changing landscape from a tiny window, watching as the lush meadows and trickling streams and the beautiful wild-flowers of the North faded into the distance behind them. One month of listening non stop to the relentless voice of Lady Portia Howell, her father's ward. What the girl was even talking about anymore, Effie had no idea, but she let her speak, drowning out the voice with songs in her head and dreams of home; a place she didn't know if she'd ever return to again.

"I cannot get over that gorgeous pendant!" The pendant again? Really?

Those words that a month ago had triggered a lively conversation from the young Lady Trinket were now just beginning to grate on her last nerve. With no real animation to the movement, she tore her gaze from the bizarre red castle in the distance and gave the other girl a look of pure indifference.

"It's rude to stare, Portia."

"Rude to admire a friend's style?" Portia had the nerve to laugh, much to Effie's annoyance.

"Yes! When you've done nothing but stare every time I've worn it in the past month, it's rude!"

An awkward silence fell between the two women after Effie's frustrated outburst, and part of her felt bad already. She knew Portia was just trying to make conversation and Effie loved talk of fine jewels as much as any young lady, but there was only so much she could take and she'd well and truly had enough. Admiring is one thing, but the staring was making her uncomfortable. That was all there was to it, and when Portia murmured a quiet "sorry", all Effie could do was sigh and turn her attention to the world outside the carriage. That strange red castle still loomed in the distance and her mind suddenly recognised it as King's Landing. A feeling of dread settled in the pit of her stomach, but it couldn't be that bad, could it? Could the King be as bad as they said? Were the people savages with no sense of community? That's what the travellers and adventurers and knights all said. They said the Keep was hot, humid and stunk of human waste. They said diseases swept through the lower town like a blizzard, and the high Lords and Ladies would be dragged from their horses and have all their gold stolen if they were not surrounded by guards. The thought terrified Effie. She could not defend herself. Why should she defend herself? The North had always been so kind and civil; a loving, caring community, where her father's guards would let the children play with old, misshapen armour and blunt practice swords, and the bakers would hand out sweets and cakes when they had some to spare at the end of each day. Thinking of it made Effie's heart pang with longing. It all felt so long ago now; a distant memory in a far away past.

She missed home.

—|—

The clang of steel from the courtyard was always a sound Haymitch despised. He was sure they did it on purpose; fighting with blunt swords in the yard right below his window at ridiculous hours just to annoy him. Many a time he'd been tempted to swap the weapons for sharp ones and let them fight until only one man remained, but his advisers had said it would be unwise to thin out the guard, considering how the North could attack at any moment. Still, he couldn't help the thought regularly crossing his mind. Part of him thought it would be well worth losing to the North if he got to sleep in for just one morning without being disturbed.

Slowly, other noises began to register in Haymitch's head; shouting, the sound of horses, a horn in the distance; but there was one noise especially that made his mood instantly sour. As if the Gods themselves were forbidding him to sleep in, a drumming echoed through the room like thunder, causing his skull to feel like it was vibrating; cracking; crumbling into tiny pieces. He groaned, lifting his hand in a pathetic attempt to shield himself from the noise, but on and on it continued, until eventually, a familiar voice accompanied it.

"My King?" His uncle's voice called loudly. "Nephew? May I enter?"

Haymitch grunted in response, but his uncle knew well to take that as consent first thing in the morning.

"Nephew, you're needed for council."

"Thought I was your King, not your nephew."

"You are my King, but still my brother's son. I would not see you shame the Abernathy name."

"Haven't I already?" His voice was a slurred grumble as he steadied himself on his feet, squinting his eyes against the painful light of the sun.

"You may have. But there is hope. You are young and beloved by -" Haymitch scoffed, but his uncle ignored him and continued. "- Your people. Even if you deny that fact." Landon added, with one scolding look at his nephew.

"Don't want them to love me. Want them to leave me alone. Let me drink and die in peace." Haymitch's voice was a low, gruff mumble - something that had become his regular voice in recent years - and the cup of wine he'd lifted to just an inch away from his lips was suddenly slapped from his hand. He shot his uncle a glare as the cup clattered to the stone floor. "What in seven hells-?!"

"They might let you drink until you die, but I most certainly will not! Your father made me swear by the old Gods and the new that I would protect you, should anything happen to him. I shall not break that oath."

"Father's dead."

"He is. And we will not insult his memory or dishonour his family name. Now, I expect you in the throne room in one hour."

The stern sense of finality in his uncle's words had Haymitch sighing and nodding his consent. At that, his uncle turned and marched towards the door, only pausing briefly to add one final command.

"You will be sober, nephew." It wasn't a question, and Landon did not wait for an answer before leaving the room. His footsteps had barely faded into the distance by the time Haymitch had a bottle in hand. He stood in place, glaring at the empty doorway and slowly lifting the bottle to his lips.

Surely one drink wouldn't hurt.


End file.
